


The Wedding Of Thranduil Oropherion (Advent 2013)

by KayleeArafinwiel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wedding of Thranduil Oropherion is the wedding of the Age - a new Age lifted from the thrall of Sauron - for now. It is Yule, too - and the joy of this occasion will drive back the encroaching darkness as the days grow shorter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Marry Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AfricanDaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/gifts), [Susana Rosa (SusanaR)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/gifts).



> The prologue, "Marry Me" was written for a 2012 February challenge. The following chapters will be triple drabbles prompted by tumblr's Hobbit Advent Calendar challenge.

_When we're together, I feel perfect. When I'm pulled away from you I fall apart. All you say is sacred to me. Your eyes are so blue, I can't look away. As we lay in the stillness, you whisper to me, "...marry me, promise you'll stay with me". You don't have to ask me. You know you're all that I live for. You know I'd die just to hold you, stay with you. Somehow I'll show you that you are my night sky. I've always been right behind you, now I'll always be right beside you. (Amy Lee, You)_

 

"Marry me." The words, whispered into her hair as they lay sprawled on the hill that would one day be called Cerin Amroth, sent a thrill through her. The elleth pushed herself up on her elbows and looked down into the blue eyes filled with questions and hope, hope and questions, and quirked a smile in response.

  
"Is that an order, my Lord King?" she teased, her own eyes dancing with delight. He smiled, slowly, and snaked an arm around her to pull her to him.

  
"I can make it one, if need be, my Lady," he informed her. "I can order you to marry me." He kissed her then, before she could reproach him even in jest, and when he drew back she rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

  
"Trying to stop me from lecturing you on pulling rank, then?"

 

"I _am_ King," he reminded her, and she rolled him beneath her, smirking.

 

"Not here, you're not. And I am older than you," she reminded him, only to yelp in shock as he pushed her down the hill, rolling after her.

"Barely," he said, as they sprawled together in the carpet of gold and silver blossoms. "Barely older. Hardly anything."

  
"Mmm." Instead of retorting, she kissed him again. "Yes."

  
"Yes? Yes what?"

  
"Yes, I'll marry you, you great idiot. Oh, I'm sorry, _my Lord King_." She smirked again as he sat up, snuggling close as he stared.

  
"You...you will?"

  
"I believe I just said I would, Thranduil." She laughed at his incredulous expression. "This is the part where you say 'thank you for accepting me, I love you forever.'" Pausing, she added, "Or you could just kiss me."

 

She wasn’t surprised in the least when he did. They had kissed before. Shy kisses between young lovers exploring a new relationship. Sweet kisses between them as they grew more confident. But this...this was passionate. That was the only word for it. She returned the kiss with equal fire, claiming him, and when they broke apart at last, he looked into her eyes, his own sapphire gaze dark with desire.

 

“I can’t wait to make you mine,” he breathed.

 

“You already have, Thranduil.”

 

“Minaethiel.” He brushed a tender kiss over her lips, and she started slightly.

 

“That’s not my name,” she protested, and Thranduil’s lips curved upward slightly.

 

“It will be. It can be your throne-name. Don’t you like it?”

 

“Well...” She gave him a playful grin. “At least it’s not ‘Galadriel’.” They both laughed. “Yes...oh, yes, Thranduil. It’s lovely.” Minaethiel accepted the silver ring Thranduil offered her, letting him slide it onto her finger, and reciprocated with the matching band of silver.

 

“And so are you.” Entwined in each others’ arms, weary after the excitement of the day, the couple fell asleep amidst the blossoms.  


	2. Chapter One: Under The Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One - Under the Mistletoe
> 
> Outside under the trees, the happy couple share their first dance.

Thranduil spun and twirled lightly over the snow, cavorting with his newly wedded bride. He held her in his arms, their gaze locked on each other. The rest of the world had ceased to exist for them – until they were brought out of their besotted stupor by shrill whistles and laughter. As his Minaethiel – for so she would be known, now she was crowned – looked up in annoyance at the interruption, she saw it. She tapped Thranduil’s cheek. “They are expecting a show, _hervenn muin.”_

“Hmm?” Thranduil murmured, and followed her gaze. He groaned, realising they had been outmaneuvered. His heart-brothers – Linwë, Veassen and cousin Fileg – stood nearby, nudging each other and laughing, even when Thranduil fixed them with a baleful glare. As they laughed even harder, Thranduil turned back to Minaethiel, shaking his head.

“I’ll kill my gwedyr for this,” he muttered. The sprig of _pân-nestad_ , its berries glowing white against the yellow-green leaves, rustled impatiently as the wedding guests held a collective breath, waiting. As Thranduil drew Minaethiel into a kiss, she blushed. The cheers escalated. Thranduil tightened his hold.

When they broke the kiss, she smiled wickedly. “I’ll help you, love.”

No one ever got away with _forcing_ such a thing, even on such an occasion. The young Queen flashed her Naneth-in-love a smile; Felith sighed in fond exasperation. She wouldn’t stand in the elflings’ way. Let them have their fun. It was, after all, Yule…she just wished Oropher could be here to see it, as they all did. He would have so loved the preparations, and the ceremony – the joining of hands and hearts, as the old Queen gave way to the new, and a new chapter was opened in Greenwood’s history. It had all really begun a few weeks prior, after Thranduil’s Begetting Day celebrations…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All words are Sindarin:
> 
> Hervenn muin - beloved husband
> 
> pân-nestad - All-heal, another name for mistletoe


	3. Chapter Two: Baking Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the flashback - after the young aran's Begetting Day, the preparations for his wedding begin in earnest, starting with the kitchen.
> 
> For Advent Calendar day 2 "Gingerbread"

The day after Thranduil’s Begetting Day, the kitchens were a hive of activity. Master Taraven, the head baker, was ordering assistants to and fro as the younger ellyn and ellith fetched ingredients and stirred batters. His own bowl was attended by the young aran himself – although Thranduil was a hindrance in his elflinghood days, the king had become quite capable about the kitchen. One still needed to keep an eye on him, though.

  
“Have you got those ingredients for me, Thranduil?” Taraven asked sharply, the familiarity a matter of course for both of them. Thranduil looked panicked for a moment, brow creasing as he checked the basket of spices and other ingredients from Harad, Rhun and Khand in his hands. “Cloves,” he muttered, “cinnamon, ginger, sugar, molasses…” 

Salt from the Falas…and Taraven already had the butter, eggs and flour. Thranduil handed his basket over, and watched as Taraven measured and mixed. He reached out a hand to swipe a finger through the batter, but confronted with the baker’s other wooden spoon, backed off. As the butter, egg, molasses and sugar were blended, Thranduil sifted together the flour, spices and leavening in another bowl. Directed by Taraven, he added the dry mixture to Taraven’s bowl, and then added the ginger as Taraven folded it in. 

  
"Taraven?"

  
“Yes, aran dithen?”

  
“Don’t call me that,” Thranduil muttered. “May I have some now?”

 “No. Sidhanar is taking it to the cold chamber.” Thranduil waited for an hour before he saw the batter again. This time it was spooned on a pan and thrust into the oven, and when it was done Taraven removed the gingerbread biscuits, putting them aside. “You mustn’t touch, aran dithen. This is for your wedding; you wouldn’t want to disappoint your bride.”

Thranduil winced. No, he most certainly did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aran dithen = "little king". Taraven has known Thranduil since he was a young elfling, so he'll always be an elfling to the head baker.
> 
> ellyn = plural of ellon, male elf
> 
> ellith = plural of elleth, female elf
> 
> Falas = Coast, realm of Lord Cirdan. The elves of the Falas are known as the Falathrim.
> 
> Harad = Southlands, equivalent to Africa
> 
> Rhun = Eastlands, equivalent to the Far East
> 
> Khand = basically South Asia
> 
> Taraven (OMC) Head baker in the Greenwood kitchens
> 
> Sidhanar (OMC) An assistant in the kitchens, frequently helps with the baking.


	4. Chapter Three: The Wine-Steward's Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galion, Thranduil's newly-appointed wine-steward, shows Thranduil his latest recipe...For Day 3, "Mulled Wine"

It was Duiladan, Oropher’s wine-steward, who had taught his nephew Galion how to make spiced wine. Galion was in charge of the wine cellar now, and so he it was who brought Thranduil into the wine-steward’s pantry where the mulling spices were kept – more cinnamon, yes, and clove, too – nutmeg, and sugar. Galion poured a measure of water into the pot, kept scrupulously clean just for this purpose, and Thranduil added the spices under Galion’s direction. When the whole of it was boiling, the wine and sugar went in, too, and were brought again to the boiling point.

“To your Majesty’s marriage,” Galion said, drawing Thranduil a cupful once it had cooled enough. “May it be fruitful.” He drew a cup for himself, as well, and toasted the young King.

“Shouldn’t this be saved for the wedding?” Thranduil asked slowly, and Galion grinned.

“Oh, I’ll be making plenty more, Sire, don’t you worry!” He downed his, and Thranduil took a cautious sip – followed by a more generous one. Galion’s new recipe _was_ very good! It warmed him from head to toe, and he beamed.

“You had _better_ make more, Galion! Much more. I want this spiced wine to flow freely for all!”

And so it did – Galion was just as good as his word, spending the remaining weeks exclusively on this task – and if now and again he imbibed a bit more than he was preserving, Thranduil couldn’t help but look the other way. It was _Galion,_ after all! He was a _genius_ with wine…Thranduil only wished his father had come to know how clever Galion could be.

Yes, when the day of his wedding came, all would taste and come to know Galion’s clear brilliance, when the mulled Dorwinion flowed as warm and red as blood on a battlefield!


	5. Chapter Four: A Stroll In The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil, restless, walks outside during a snowstorm - and finds he's not the only one who couldn't sleep that night.

The snow fell heavily around, but that didn’t stop Thranduil from slipping outside, his warm winter cloak wrapped about his shoulders. Ithil yet reigned in the sky, and the stars glittered coldly overhead as Thranduil walked under the trees, restless. The guests from foreign lands had all arrived – it was lucky, for the passes were soon to be snowed in – and he hoped no quarrel between them would break out and spoil his nuptial celebrations.

“Thranduil.”

The young king paused without turning, and smiled as familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. He turned and buried himself in her embrace, inhaling his mother’s familiar scent. “Naneth, you couldn’t sleep, either?”

“No,” Felith admitted readily. “As the days pass, I wish more and more that…” She trailed off, unable to finish, but Thranduil knew. Looking skyward, he frowned slightly. “We are _edhil,_ the People of the Stars. Might it be that our loved ones can watch over us from these stars? There is Eärendil, at least.”

Felith smiled and acknowledged Thranduil’s musings with a nod. “Yes, at least there is Eärendil, laes-nin. As for the rest – who can say? It may be that Oropher, too, has the grace to watch us so. Such a thought brings me great comfort.” She hugged Thranduil close, and they resumed their walk together. “I feel his presence here with us often.”

“I do too, Nana,” Thranduil whispered. “I wish he could be here.”

“ _We_ will be here for each other, and I shall not leave you until I must,” Felith promised. “If you have any questions, you may always come to me.”

Thranduil nodded, reaching out a hand to catch and admire a snowflake. Felith smiled.

“Every snowflake is unique and beautiful. Just like you, just like Minaethiel – and like marriage.”

The silent snowfall continued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ithil - S. cognate of Q. "Isil" "Sheen", referring to the Moon
> 
> Edhil - plural of edhel, Elf (literally "star-person")
> 
> Naneth - Mother, diminutive/familiar Nana - Mum


	6. Chapter Five: The Great Snow War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after his walk under starlight, Thranduil is woken by an honoured tradition.

After he had gone to bed, Thranduil had every intention of sleeping late. But he was roused not long after Anor herself had awoken – by Linwë, Veassen and Fileg. His three gwedyr had lifted him out of bed and dumped him _through the window_ into the high snowbank outside. With a yelp, Thranduil woke, disoriented. It didn’t take him long to realise what had happened, though, and he began gathering up snow as his sworn brothers climbed out after him. The four ellyn began making snowballs, and soon there was a snow fight in full swing.

Felith and Minaethiel walked out, side by side, and exchanged reluctantly amused glances, as if to say _Ellyn!_ How impossible, and yet beloved, they were. Minaethiel scooped up her own snowball, and aimed straight for her beloved’s head, striking the target admirably. Thranduil tumbled into the snow, spitting curses under his breath, and his beloved laughed. Soon the two ellith were deemed fair targets as even the Queen joined in the fun, and as the snow flew freely, they all felt as elflings again. This tradition, the great Snow War on the first heavy snow of winter, would never be forgotten, so long as they could yet be children at heart. Bit by bit other combatants joined in the fun, and Thranduil took as many hits from the most menial of servants as he did from his sworn brothers.

When they were exhausted by their efforts, the ellith and ellyn made their way inside, to be greeted by jugs of mulled wine, pots of hot tea, plates of biscuits, and cakes. After refreshing themselves, they departed to bathe and change into dry garments, and Thranduil particularly relished his hot bath. Yes, the Snow War was a fine tradition. It gave them all lighter hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anor - S. cognate of Q. Anar "fiery", name for the Sun. The Sun is referred to as "she" because the Maia that steers Anor, Arien, is female.


	7. Chapter Six: Music Hath Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil checks the musicians' plans for their part in the wedding, and talks with one of the visiting ellith.

After things had settled down, Thranduil went over the plans for the wedding again. What was he forgetting? Oh yes – _music!_ He went to see the musicians; there was Laeradan, of course, with his harp, and Lindir had come from Elrond’s court. The two were discussing their plans diligently and so Thranduil did not trouble them long. He spoke briefly to each one. Finally he came to a young elleth – recently appointed, he recalled – and she ducked her head, blushing. “Well met, your Majesty,” she whispered.

“Well met,” he said. “You have the advantage of me. You know who I am, but I am afraid I do not know you, yet.”

“M-my name is Lirissë,” she stammered. “I am not yet of journeyman status in the musician’s guild of Imladris, but Master Elrond thought perhaps…he said I am very good, you see, and…”

Thranduil nodded, giving her an encouraging smile. “What do you play, Lirissë?” he asked the young Noldo.

“I play…the bells,” she said, and brought the little bells out so he could see them. “These bells have a sweet tone, and accompany the harp well.”

“Show me,” Thranduil requested, and the young Noldo nodded, relaxing as Thranduil stepped back. She lost herself in the music, and as Laeradan and Lindir played, the harps and bells brought a song to life. Other instruments wove their melodies as the musicians joined in, and Thranduil smiled.

“That is beautiful,” he said, “and I am very pleased with you all, as I know my beloved shall be. I think you will make journeyman very soon indeed,” he added. “Perhaps, once you are declared ready I shall have to steal you from Elrond.” His eyes sparkled, and Lirissë whispered her thanks. It wasn’t every day a king deigned to give her such notice.


	8. Chapter Seven: A Surprise Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil turns to the Dyemistress and Head Clothier, Morvain, when he can't find the right cloth to wrap a present for one of his favourite ellith.

"Mistress Morvain?"

"Yes, Thranduil?" The head clothier turned to regard her King with fond amusement, noting the expression on his face. She had lost count of the many, many times she'd seen that expression - most memorably when he'd liberated one of her dyes to colour a horse.Yes, Thranduil Oropherion was clearly Up To Something.

"I need your help. It's for a Yule gift," he said quickly. "For...someone. But she can't know about it."

“Go on, elfling,” Morvain said, stifling a laugh at his affronted expression.

“It’s just – I need something to wrap something in.”

Morvain’s dark eyebrows rose to her hairline. “And this something that needs wrapping would be…”

“It’s a secret,” he said quickly. His eyes widened. “It’s a good secret. Please?”

Narugil, one of Morvain’s tailors, turned to look in frank amusement at Thranduil. “You do realise, my lord, you could say, ‘Mistress Morvain, I require some cloth to wrap an item about ‘so big’ and offer general measurements. You are our aran; make it an order.”

“But she’s Mistress Morvain,” Thranduil protested, causing the weavers and tailors, and Morvain, to break into gentle laughter that was in no way mocking. Nevertheless, Thranduil blushed, giving the measurements to Mistress Morvain. She gave him white velvet, so much that Morvain’s daughter Celoneth had to help him carry it.

“Won’t you tell me?” Celoneth asked, and Thranduil finally nodded. She had spent countless hours teaching him to card, spin and weave, and he counted her a friend. Mischief lit her eyes as he whispered. Celoneth laughed aloud when they came to the stables. A spotted cat lay there in a straw basket – a tamed cat of Harad, to be the kitchens’ new mouser.

 _Ivy will love her_ , he thought, as they wrapped the cat’s basket.

And so she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistress Morvain and all of her staff - including Narugil - have known Thranduil since he became Prince, hence the informality he enjoys with them. Celoneth, Morvain's daughter, was not much more than an elfling herself at the time and being one of the youngest staff, has shared a close bond with the young Prince, now King, as he grew older. She was often privy to his schemes.
> 
> The cat Thranduil obtained for Ivoniel - who has known him all his life and was his father and uncle's nursemaid when they were children - is an African serval. It looks something like a leopard or cheetah, but is quite a bit smaller.


	9. Chapter Eight: An Explosion Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aran Thranduil is woken early by his favourite cousin. He is not too pleased. But everyone else soon has cause for mirth.

“Thranduil?” It was the week after Thranduil’s Begetting Day and he found himself woken by a tap on the head with some unidentifiable object. He opened his eyes, noticed Anor hadn’t fully risen, and turned to glare balefully at whoever had dared to wake him.

  
“Oh, it’s only you, Fileg. Go away,” he told his cousin. “It’s still dark.”

  
“Not for much longer. See, the light is greying now. Look what I found in the shipment of gifts from Moria.”

  
“Poison?” Thranduil asked drily, and Fileg smirked.

  
“No. These.” He thrust the object in Thranduil’s face, and Thranduil sat up, rubbed his eyes, and studied it. It was a tube shape and about the length of Thranduil’s hand, covered in some sort of paper strange to him and twisted at both ends.

  
“What is it for?” Thranduil asked, interested despite himself. If there was one thing Thranduil had never been able to resist, it was a mystery.

  
“Hold that end,” Fileg said, and when Thranduil complied, he gripped the other end and pulled hard.

  
_BANG!_

  
 The small explosion was loud in the great chamber, and Thranduil’s uncles came running, the Queen Mother at their heels. Servants hurried to open the curtains and let in the light of day, and so it was with an audience that Fileg deposited a crown of paper on Thranduil’s head, stifling his laughter. It slid down over one pointed ear, and Thranduil stared at the remnants of the exploded tube in disbelief.

  
“I believe the Dwarves call them ‘Yule crackers’,” Lord Vehiron said, stifling a smile as he looked on his nephew and wondered what Oropher would have thought.

  
His elder brother likely would have laughed himself senseless – before pulling another cracker and receiving a crown of his own. Dwarves had _some_ uses, Vehiron supposed.


	10. Chapter Nine: A Little Night Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Minaethiel share a dance as Yule, and their wedding day, draws ever nearer.

As Yule drew nearer, the Elves went about the palace lifting up their voices in song. None were untouched by the joyous season; from the ellyn and ellith who cleaned the palace to the highest of nobles, their clear voices mingled in praise of the Powers, and joy swelled in Thranduil’s heart, too. His upcoming nuptials made him apprehensive, but when the lilt of Minaethiel’s voice reached his ears, his fears dissipated and he joined her in a familiar Yuletide carol.

_“Peaceful night, blessed night,_

_All is still, the stars are bright_

_Elbereth’s Cloak, it covers us all_

_Let us sing praise to the One above_

_Praise Him, the One above all,_

_Praise Him, the One above all.”_

Minaethiel cast him a quick smile and kissed his cheek. “You have a wonderful singing voice,” she said warmly. “Truly, we are blessed, and soon enough we will be joined forever. Elbereth’s favour covers you, my Lord and my beloved. ”

“She favours you even more, for your beauty and grace is without compare,” Thranduil smiled back, and Minaethiel laughed, blushing rosily.

“Flatterer. Will you favour me with a dance, Thranduil?” she asked, opening the door of the feasting hall and leading him out to the floor, cleared for such festivity. Greenery draped the walls, and candles glimmered like stars from the tree. Gifts were beginning to pile around it, and Thranduil made a mental note to avoid them as he followed her into the dance, a stately pavane.

“I am yours all night.” As the music changed, he swept her into his arms, and his heart caroled for joy as he took her for a turn about the room. Other couples were dancing, but they stopped to acknowledge their King and his soon-to-be Queen as they danced in the silent night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elbereth's Cloak: What we would call the Milky Way, "Coll Elbereth" in proper Sindarin.


	11. Chapter Ten: Hearth and Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dance, Thranduil and Minaethiel snuggle by the fireside...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I don't know why I've fallen so far behind on prompts - the Muse has been sleeping I guess! I'm back with at least two more chapters, though I'm still woefully behind - hopefully I shall catch up soon!!

That night, Thranduil and Minaethiel sat together in the living room, toasting forks in hand as they cooked anything they could think of to beg from Ivoniel that would fit on a toasting fork. Bread, sausages, even fluffy confections made of some sort of plant, they thought, but which was whipped into a puffy sort of sweet that they both enjoyed, and which browned nicely. It was also nice, in smaller amounts, mixed with the drink Ivoniel had given them – ground seeds of a particular Numenorean plant had been mixed with other ingredients and hardened into blocks, and shavings cut from these blocks with a special knife were whipped with boiling water and milk, and sweetened with honey and spices.

 Cream and bits of the fluffy confection topped it in their mugs, and the young King and future Queen drank and were merry. They sang Yuletide carols as they lay by the fire, exchanged stories and jests until they laughed with mirth, and fed each other the treats they were roasting, refilling each other’s mugs until sated and happy, they fell asleep in each other’s arms as the fire died down.

They walked the Path of Dreams that night, finding themselves wandering glasshouses where these trees and plants were farmed far away, and helping with the harvest in their dream-state. In waking life, they would have no chance to do so, but the dream-masters of the lands whence these originated might tell them such a dream was fortuitous, for gleaning seeds and fruits spoke of being fruitful, and having many children together. Such a good omen for their marriage would never be discounted among the Numenoreans. They did not know, though; if any of the Men of the West thought Elves had aided the gleaning, word never reached the Greenwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Hot Chocolate". The foods described are marshmallows and of course, chocolate (which I'm supposing came from Numenor since chocolate came from the Americas, and most non-British (i.e. natively American) food which turns up in Middle-Earth seems to have come from Numenor via Valinor, where Yavanna grew every kind of living thing)


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the dance, Thranduil realises he and Minaethiel have been discovered in a somewhat compromising position. Prompt "Warmth"

The next morning, Thranduil found himself curled up on the royal living room’s hearth rug in Minaethiel’s arms. She quirked a brow at him and he realised they were still in their clothes from the night before. Shaking his head, he laughed wryly. “Oh, I do hope no one saw us, beloved. At least all our clothes are in place – that is some small comfort.”

She smiled wickedly. “I did not cover us with this blanket, my love,” she replied. He groaned. The blanket and the banked coals had provided plenty of warmth, but it was nothing to the heat in his face at the revelation they had been seen.

“I wonder who did,” he mused. Raina, one of the kitchen servants and a close friend, appeared with their breakfast tray as he spoke. “That would be me,” she said with a teasing smile. “Do not worry, no one will talk. They love you too much.” _As do I,_ she added silently. Not in a way that would endanger the betrothed pair – but as a devoted servant to her lord and soon-to-be lady, as well as friend. The warmth of her smile reassured the royal couple, and as Raina left the tray on the table and departed, they sat down to the sumptuous repast. It would not do to let the eggs, meats, cheeses, toasted bread and griddlecakes go cold! They entertained each other by exchanging tales of winter mornings long ago, when as elflings, they had breakfasted together and played tricks on Thranduil’s parents.

Such activity kept them occupied, and well out of the servants’ way, until well into the morning. They parted to bathe and dress properly – there was still much to be seen to ere the wedding guests began to arrive. They would have only the best.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Vows By Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding itself finally gets underway, at the Meren-en-Giliath on the Longest Night.

The Meren-en-Giliath, the Feast of Starlight, was called many times a year, and the Longest Night was one of them. That night, the light in the feast hall – glass panes opening it to the sky – came from the hosts of flickering stars, Elbereth’s candles, as Ithil was in his darkness. Thranduil joined hands with Minaethiel there at the Feast, and repeated his intent to wed her before all the assembled guests. “One coranor ago,” he said clearly, “I plighted my troth to you, my beloved.”

“You mean, I plighted my troth to you,” she teased.

“We gave our hearts to each other with these rings, though in truth my heart was yours—“

“And yours was mine,” she replied, suppressing laughter.

“Yes, thank you, love – long before,” Thranduil finished. “Tonight, on the Meren-en-Giliath, once again I ask you; beloved, will you in truth take the name of Minaethiel of Greenwood, and be my Queen? Will you rule at my side, with Elbereth’s stars to bless our union, and accept the children given unto us?”

“I will,” she said softly, kissing Thranduil deeply. “I love you, my Thranduil, my Lord and King – my beloved husband, for all time, until and after the Renewing. So I pledge myself to you – to be your Queen and the mother of our children, as many as may be added unto us.”

“I pledge myself to you, with Elbereth’s stars and Eru as my witness. Let all see and know that you are my beloved, until and after the Renewing. I will be father to our children, as many as may be added unto us.”

“With Elbereth’s stars and Eru as my witness, I promise to be mother to our children, and to do my duty to the realm of Greenwood.”

Golden rings were brought forth.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Something Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Advent prompt "Home". The exchange of wedding rings brings up unfortunate associations for Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A line or two from this bit belong to others: at least one from Peter Jackson's Hobbit trilogy, though in a new context, and a reference to Fiondil's series found at Stories of Arda, again set in a new context.

_Golden rings._ Thranduil froze as he saw their wedding bands. Gold was traditional, of course, he thought as he anxiously twisted the silver betrothal ring on his finger, but he rather wished it wasn’t, as he was taken back years to another golden ring, another golden band he had seen cut from a Maia’s hand and claimed by a Man. Gold signified something precious. _Something precious…_ He trembled, closing his eyes, and Minaethiel placed steadying hands on his arms as he suppressed a shudder. No. Not that Ring. Not now, not here.

This ring was not a Ring of Power, much less _that One._ It had no thrall on him. And yet, would it not?

_You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule…_

Except, Thranduil thought bitterly, the right to rule was his already. _Because_ of _that one._ The One.

 _If thraldom it be, thou canst not escape it…_ a voice echoing out of history, not memory, a shade of amusement in it.

_He was speaking of kingship, wasn’t he?_

_Yes,_ Cousin Celeborn had said. _For in kingship, or lordship, your will is not your own. But, cousin, that holds true for marriage, too. A special kind of thraldom._ His eyes had brightened with amusement. _You do not need a Ring of Power to be slave to this ring. And yet, such a thraldom is a welcome one, a homecoming. She will be your home as you are hers. She will be your rock, your strength, and you will be hers, amid tears and laughter, joy and sorrow. You will be in thrall to each other, but it will not be a pain. It will be a joyful partnership, as you learn each other’s hearts and minds more thoroughly than ever before._

“Thranduil.” Minaethiel was calling him home.


End file.
